


Spies Never Die

by functional_fangirl



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Lots of Angst, M/M, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Smut, will earn its explicit rating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22489363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/functional_fangirl/pseuds/functional_fangirl
Summary: Owen Carvour and Curt Mega, two special agents, two countries, one secret. This begins with their first meeting on a mission and the burgeoning relationship that follows.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction. I adore Spies Are Forever and have been in the fan community for long enough that I thought it was time to give something back.  
> Kudos and comments are always welcome.
> 
> *All characters and recognisable story lines belong to Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers*

~ Berlin, 1957 _~_

Special Agent Curt Mega was annoyed. Annoyed at the American Secret Service for sending him to this hellhole. Annoyed at all of the irritating people colliding with him and muttering their apathetic apologies as they strode away. Annoyed at the rain, whose steading drizzle was beginning to invade his socks and soften his skin. But most of all Curt Mega was annoyed at himself.

Slowly surveying his surroundings, Curt reflected on his last mission where his idiotic mistake almost cost him his career. The fact that this occurred on a semi-regular basis did nothing to lighten his mood.

After choosing the shittiest looking café he could find, he made a point to beckon over a young, greasy waitress.

“A latte please, five sugars to the table.” He said gruffly, face deadpan.

No sense in exerting unnecessary energy at this time in the morning he thought. Besides, the order was code for a passer-by who should be passing-by any moment now unless this particular agent had chosen this morning to be a total dick.

In fact, Curt had to order an additional three lattes because the wait staff couldn’t be expected to leaving him sitting there despondently with an undrunk coffee. Neither of them knew the others’ name, appearance, or anything at all. A.S.S. merely thought that Curt deserved a babysitter after his performance on his previous mission, and who better to talk to than their British cousins. Curt was expecting some pompous, slightly flabby, middle-aged man who would contently order him around with a cup of tea in his hand.

Curt awoke from his daydream to a man standing in front of him boasting a lop-sided grin. A quick glance down confirmed that the sugar packets had been rearranged to form a square with the fifth being placed neatly diagonally across the centre.

“I now see why you were sent a foreign supervisor.”

The aghast look on Curt’s face made the man chuckle.

“Well… I mean look at you. Sitting back in your chair with your hands in your lap. How long would it take for you to draw your gun? And there’s also the fact that you didn’t notice me, a stranger, meddle with something literally beneath your nose. Clearly in need of a supervisor.”

The man looked far too impressed with himself after his little spiel, yet he was far too right for Curt to retort.

“Curt Mega.” Curt said, reaching his hand out in greeting.

“Owen Carvour.”

The man, Owen, took his hand confidently and Curt couldn’t help but notice the strong grip and rough callouses – he was only human after all.

“Well we should probably get going?”

For the second time in as many minutes Curt found himself blinking the glaze off his eyes. The smirk on Owen’s face immediately told him that this had not been missed by the other agent.

They began to walk down the street in a companionable silence, and Curt used the time to gather information about the man beside him. Owen was casually observing their surroundings in a manner of ease that suggested that this was a permanent occurrence. His tall, lithe body was held in a manner that meant he was able to defend himself with less than a moment’s notice. The fact that all of this should also apply to himself only occurred to Curt a few minutes into their journey.

They reached a derelict apartment block and Owen, as Curt was beginning to learn was almost part of his DNA, suavely swept the ground floor. By comparison, Curt stumbled after him, acting as though his contribution to the sweep was immense.

“All clear.” The words come out rather strained as Curt was marginally out of breath and trying to hide it.

Owen nodded and they proceeded to climb the stairs to the third floor.

While all the other rooms were completely uninhabitable, Room 303 was fully furnished. Squashed into the corner of the room was a queen-sized bed, and the rest of the floor space was taken up by the masses of equipment they would need over the next week.

“Home sweet home.” Curt said.

“Lair sweet lair more like. How do they expect us to live here? Jesus!”

“It’s not so bad. I mean it’s a bit cramped, but I’ve had worse. Be grateful that there’s a door between where you shit and where you sleep.”

“I thank God every day for small mercies.”

Cynthia had briefed Curt on his mission before he left the US, but in true Agent Curt Mega fashion very little had been imprinted in his memory.

“What’s your boss like?” Curt asked, genuinely curious as to how the agency across the pond worked.

“He’s one of those men who you can’t imagine outside of a business suit. I don’t think he’s missed a day since I’ve been there. He and I have a good relationship though. I have a reputation for not fucking up.”

The last statement was followed by, at least in Curt’s opinion, an extremely sexy wink.

After their little exchange happened, they both busied themselves with preparing their equipment for the commencement of the mission the following day. If Curt spent a little too much time ensuring that all pages of their instructions were included, Owen did not notice.

The sun began to set early in the afternoon and with it the temperature dropped. Their respective agencies had been kind enough to provide them with an understocked fridge that they had only uncovered after moving a pile of largely useless blueprints. They sat in silence as they tentatively ate a stew made from an unidentified meat combine with massive chunks of vegetables.

“I guess we should prepare for the night?”

The hesitant nature of Owen’s voice caught Curt off-guard.

“Sounds good. I’ll try and find some blankets because I don’t think that measly sheet will cut it in this weather.”

“Good idea. Try some of the neighbouring rooms as well.”

Sure enough, there was a stack of dreary, itchy woollen blankets tucked away in the bathroom of Room 301.

“Better than nothing.” Curt muttered to himself bitterly.

Owen was in the bathroom when Curt returned to the room so he busied himself with arranging the blankets in a lopsided heap on the bed. He shrugged his shoulders at his half-assed attempt at neatness and then fell backwards onto the bed.

“Curt! Come in here and get all of that gel out of your hair!”

Finding it hard to oblige, Curt groaned as he slowly raised himself from the bed. The springs creaked loudly, eliciting a second groan. Clearly they were not destined to sleep comfortably in Berlin.

When he opened the door to the bathroom the first word that flashed through Curt’s head was ‘shit’. Barely larger than that of an aeroplane, the bathroom contained a cramped shower, a cracked sink and a rusty mirror. Hardly the Ritz. Owen had to move aside, half into the shower, for there to be enough floor space for Curt to enter. He ran his finger down the mirror and a downpour of red rain followed. Disgusted, he turned to inspect the shower, finding that what he initially believed to be grout was in fact black mould. Curt shut his eyes and forced himself to take a few calming breaths.

“Not what you’re used to?” Own chuckled.

“Not exactly, no.”

“Now that I’ve got used to it, it’s not going to be as bad as a thought it was going to be.”

Curt opened his eyes, finally feeling grounded after his bout of light-headedness.

“What are you talking about! This standard of living is…” Curt broke off. He had looked over at Own for the first time since entering the bathroom. Owen was wearing loose-fitting, charcoal pyjama pants and nothing else. Curt gulped and stuttered out the remainder of his sentence “i-is inhumane.”

Owen shrugged and then turned back to the sink to continue brushing his teeth. Of course, Curt used this opportunity to study him.

Owen’s chest was deliciously toned, he was nowhere near ripped, but the muscles that Curt could see were defined. His pecs where lightly covered in dark hair which trailed down to his tantalisingly low pants. Dragging his eyes upwards, Curt noticed the shadow on Owen’s chin falling just over his Adam’s apple that was moving up and down as he swallowed water.

Determined to not let the other agent win their silent battle of wills, Curt reached over to the sink and grabs his toothbrush. He began aggressively brushing his teeth while deliberately averting his gaze from Owen. The side of Owen’s mouth tilted upwards in amusement as he realised that Curt had neglected to use toothpaste.

Owen left the bathroom and Curt had some time to compose himself and get ready for bed.

“Do you want the first shift?” Owen asked immediately after Curt exited the bathroom.

“Sure. Two hours?”

“Sounds good to me.”


	2. Chapter 2

~ Berlin, 1957 ~

They woke the other every two hours. It felt comfortable, uniform. They were both used to the jagged sleep schedule and knew that it would have only a slight negative effect on their health – or at least that’s what each of their organisations had told them. Both of them had decided to look no further into it.

Curt awoke in the middle of Owen’s shift and turned towards the window to glance at the clock hung lopsided on the wall. Owen was beside the window trying to make use of the natural light by studying the mission briefing for what had to be the fiftieth time. 

“Surely you’re word perfect by now!” Curt said jovially.

Owen’s head snapped back to look at him, a slight glisten of surprise in his eyes.

“Never hurts to just do it one more time, what else would I be doing now?”

He was clearly now bored after the initial shock of Curt’s interjection. It was clear that he did indeed see this is a simple babysitting job with a slight element of espionage thrown in for good measure. 

“Maybe… having a conversation with me now that I’m awake?”

The sarcasm was evident in his voice. Curt was of the opinion that his worth, both as a person and as an agent was being questioned by this aloof man of which he had no need for in his life.

“And what would we talk about? Our mutually shared experience of being totally fucked over by our respective governments?” Owen turned his head and spat out his final question. “Or does that hit a bit close to home at this current moment?”

“Fine. Do you want me to take over for now so you can get some sleep?”

Owen’s head remained resolutely pointed towards the window at his query. Effectively shutting down any argument. In fact, Curt would not be surprised if he was not woken again until morning thanks to the pride being shown by the other agent.

However, the remaining few hours until morning were spent swapping sentry and sleep duties, neither speaking, merely communicating through taps on the shoulder every two hours.

The mission briefing told them in no uncertain terms that the only reason to leave the rooms that they had been given were to buy food supplies, the money supplied to them was meagre suggesting that this was not supposed to occur often, and at the end of the week to achieve their objective.

After a bare-bones conversation it was determined that Curt should go out and buy all of their food for the entire week as to reduce the risk that multiple outings would incur. Both were skirting around discussing their conversation the previous night. Whether Owen actually felt some remorse for his words or simply didn’t want to talk about it, Curt couldn’t tell.

“Any preferences for food?” Curt asked.

“Not particularly.”

And that was the end of that discussion.

As he was walking down the street Curt tried to be more observant of his surroundings than the previous day, no company to distract him; however, the man he left behind was still on his mind.

Not in the same way as before, god forbid. But there was definitely something more going on there than Curt currently knew.

Cursing softly to himself, Curt realised that he had missed the turning to the store and had to double back. He really had to clear his mind and simply focus on the mission ahead, in this case buying food.

Entering the store was quite an experience. The majority of Curt’s mission experience came from within the United States and very occasionally venturing out to Mexico. The aisles were filled with unfamiliar food labelled in German.

He walked around the store, searching for familiar packaging (and of course finding none). After this continued for a few minutes his logical side took over and he started eliminating parts of the store from his search. First the cold aisles, the small fridge in their room was grey and he had seen no sign of it being used in the past decade. The junk food aisle was unfortunately also eliminated. With their limited monetary supply there was no use in buying food for gratification rather than actual nutritional necessity.

Eventually Curt had gathered enough supplies to last for the entire week and he was reasonably happy with his selection; however, he knew that the larger challenge would be whether his companion thought the same.

He exchanged no words with the cashier, having neglected to learn basic German phrases that would have been useful, and merely handed the money over.

He had no trouble carrying everything back to their rooms, but if there had been an ambush he would certainly have died. For, in addition to the bags being carried in both of his hands, he realised that he had been so totally unprepared for his outing that he had neglected to bring his gun or a weapon of any kind.

“So, what have you got.” Owen asked immediately as Curt entered. The thought of helping with the bags not even crossing his mind.

“Just the essentials, I wasn’t able to get anything extra.”

Owen started rummaging through the bags pulling out all the tins and stacking them in the corner of the room. The few things remaining in the bags hardly made a dint in them.

“I’m assuming that you bought a tin opener for all of these?”

Curt felt his face go red as that had most definitely not been the case. As always seemed to be the case Owen was fifty steps ahead of him in everything.

“I thought not. Luckily, these seem to be quite flimsy and we should be fine with a knife.”

There was no further discussion between them as the remaining items were placed in front of the tins.

“So… about last night.” Owen began.


End file.
